I Will Lay Me Down
by shakeitsalome
Summary: Everyone has scars. Over the course of a year, Dean learns how deep Sophia's are. One-shot companion to Under Your Spell.


_A/N: This delves a little more into the history of Dean and Sophia. The title comes from Simon & Garfunkel's iconic "Bridge Over Troubled Water" which I recommend you all listen to._

 _Content Warning: There are mentions of rape and sexual abuse. While not overly graphic, reader discretion is advised._

 **I Will Lay Me Down**

 _July_

"Of fucking course I choose the hottest fucking day to do this," Dean Ambrose hissed as he gave the couch a shove so it was fully inside the moving van he'd rented. Groaning, he leaned against the bumper to catch his breath. He mopped the sweat from his brow and thought longingly of the cold beers waiting in the fridge. He was pretty sure he'd worked hard enough to deserve one. Or a dozen.

"I brought the cushions," a soft voice announced.

He looked over to see Sophia exiting the thrift store. He only caught a glimpse of her face behind the stack of cushions she carried. Pushing away from the van, he met her halfway and took them from her. "I thought the doc told you to take it easy."

"I'm carrying cushions, not powerlifting a tractor trailer."

"You've got two cracked ribs, Sophia."

Her eyes flickered, and she looked away. "I'm sorry."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. "No, hey, don't," he sighed, throwing the cushions into the back of the van. They knocked over one of the dining chairs and the resulting clatter echoed loudly. He ignored it, though, gently catching Sophia by the shoulder and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Two weeks, and he was still trying to figure out what he could and couldn't say. "I'm sorry."

"I'm a mess," she groaned, patting his chest as she stepped away.

"Hey, it's okay. New start, remember? And new…ish furniture." Dean held his breath, letting it out slowly when he saw the hint of a smile. Okay. She would be okay. "Go ahead and get in the front, I'll get the rest."

Thinking about the cold beers and forgetting it would probably be hours before he could enjoy one, he reentered the store and approached the counter. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure she hadn't followed him, then reached for his wallet. He'd wanted to help her buy all new furniture for the little apartment she'd chosen, but she'd resisted. It was enough that he was giving her a hand, she said. She didn't want to be indebted to him. Like he was doing this because he expected repayment.

He ignored the cash that she'd handed over to him and reached for his bank card. She wouldn't let him help her get all new stuff, but he could at least make sure she had enough cash to live on until she got back on her feet.

Once the last of the things were loaded, the heavy door closed, and he was behind the wheel, he released a sigh of exhaustion.

"Dean?" she ventured softly.

"Yeah?" The air conditioning wasn't very cold, but cold enough. Using the hem of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, he looked at her.

"Thank you."

 _August_

The apartment was small. Now that she had the furniture arranged as she wanted it, it seemed more open than it had the day he'd tagged along with her to check it out. And even though the only furniture was a beat-up coffee table and a threadbare couch, it felt comfortable. There were a few plants in front of the window now, and from his spot at the door he could see into the kitchen, where there was a new tablecloth on the table.

"Dinner's ready," Sophia announced, reaching around him to close the door. "I didn't get beer, is water okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine," Dean promised. He removed his cap and dropped it on the couch, glancing through the doorway into her bedroom. The bed was unmade, a pile of what he supposed was clean laundry in the center. Following her into the kitchen, he caught a stronger whiff of cooked meat and felt his mouth water.

"Sit." She nudged one of the chairs away from the table with her foot while filling a glass with ice.

He did so. He wasn't sure how he had gotten in the habit of eating at her place twice a week. At first he had felt like a burden. Her finances were strained as it was, how could she afford to feed him as well? But she had insisted, and now he looked forward to their dinners. True, it wasn't much, but it filled him up. And the conversation more than made up for the simple offerings.

Opening his mouth to ask what she had fixed, he glanced to the window over the sink at the sound of distant thunder. He could see lightning in the distance, and saw the clouds that he'd spotted while driving over had darkened. Thunder rumbled, closer this time, and he shifted his gaze to Sophia in time to witness the glass sliding from her hand.

"Shit," she blurted as the glass hit the floor. It didn't shatter, but ice scattered everywhere. To his surprise, she merely stared at the ice cubes.

Until another roll of thunder, when she clapped her hands over her ears.

"Soph?" he questioned. Rising, he barely heard the ice crunch beneath his shoes as he stepped over to her. His hand barely brushed her arm and she cried out. Confused when he saw her eyes were clenched shut, he gently caught her arm. "Soph—"

"No!"

She jerked away from him and stumbled into the living room. It wasn't until he heard her sob that he remembered.

Len. The desk. Her sobbing. And a roaring storm outside.

"Fuck," he muttered. At a loss, he closed the door of the freezer and followed her.

She was on the couch, body curled into a tight ball. Shaking. Crying. He doubted she even noticed when he sat next to her. Or when he began to lightly rub her back.

"It's okay," he whispered, heart breaking with each broken sob that broke free of her throat. "He's not here. You're safe. I promise, Soph… I won't let him hurt you ever again."

Sophia released a keening cry.

"That's right. Let it out," he encouraged. Maybe if he just let her scream and cry she would feel better. He was sure she wouldn't lash out at him, so he carefully brought her closer, whispering and murmuring what he hoped were soothing words. With each boom of thunder outside she grew tenser, until he worried she would actually crack.

"You're okay," he whispered, holding her to him as he got to his feet. He had to get her away from the window. He thought of taking her into the bedroom but feared that would make her panic even more. Grabbing the blanket she kept on the back of the couch, he carried her into the corner furthest from the window. He sank to the floor, his back against the wall, and situated her so she sat across his lap.

He held her close, making sure the blanket covered her completely.

And, because nothing else seemed to be working, he began to have a one-sided conversation with her.

"Did I tell you Dusty Rhodes has been giving me promo advice? I can't get over it. The man's a fucking legend, y'know? And he always takes time to talk to me. I told you he was one of my heroes growing up, didn't I?" He smoothed a hand over her head. "Well, yesterday, he pulled me aside and said…"

He kept talking, telling her everything Dusty had said to him. Then he went into his work with the other guys in FCW. He told her how hard it was to keep from turning into an idiot when men he had respected for years, men whose work he had studied, whose matches and promos he had memorized as a teenager, gave him a few moments of their time. He told her how he was looking forward to getting on the main roster, even though he was enjoying the hell out of every minute in developmental.

And, slowly but surely, he felt her begin to relax. She began to uncurl her body, and his heart lurched painfully when she tucked her head against his chest. Falling silent, he continued gently rubbing her back.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

The last of the storm was sweeping away, and he felt her shiver when the thunder gave one last halfhearted rumble. "It's okay," he murmured. Resting his chin on the top of her head, he sighed.

"I just…" She sniffled.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked after a moment. When she shook her head, he smiled in understanding. "Then don't worry about it, Soph."

"I say this all the damn time to you, but…" She lifted her head, and one shaking hand lifted to brush her tears away. "Thank you."

 _October_

"Are you sure he wants to meet with me?"

Dean rolled his eyes and didn't bother to answer the question. She had asked it at least fifty times since he'd told her about the meeting he had, somehow, managed to set up. And even though he assured her each time that, yes, the man did want to meet with her, she seemed unable to believe him.

The building was behind a local high school. Charles Lacey's small independent promotion and school was technically based in an office in a strip mall ten minutes away, but he used the high school's gymnasium at night and on weekends. Dean parked and climbed out of his truck, fully expecting Sophia to be right behind him. He was at the door before he realized he was alone and, groaning, turned to go back to the truck.

"Come on," he grunted as he opened the door.

"What if he doesn't like me?" she asked, not budging.

"Then we can tell him to go fuck himself and keep looking. C'mon."

"What if I make a fool of myself?" She turned in the seat, making a face when Dean caught her by the waist and lifted her down.

"You won't make a fool of yourself. You didn't make a fool of yourself last night with Rollins," he reminded her, shutting the truck's door before she could think of climbing back in.

"I still can't believe you sneaked me in for practice," she muttered.

"I still can't believe you made him cry like a bitch when you got him in a surfboard stretch," he returned. Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he headed for the entrance again.

Despite her anxiety, she was warm and polite when he introduced her to Charles. Dean stayed silent while Charles gave her a rundown of his history in the business, nodding occasionally when the two began to discuss the training and touring schedules. He knew that Charles had watched some of her work from Japan and other promotions, and smiled when the man began to gently question her about her work history.

"This is Jessie. She'll show you the locker room, where you can get changed, and the you'll give me ten minutes in the ring. She has a similar style to yours so I think you'll do well together."

The petite blonde that had come over smiled warmly. Dean gave Sophia an encouraging smile and watched her head across the gym and disappear through a door.

He and Charles talked about mutual acquaintances while they waited. When Jessie and Sophia came back in, they moved to sit closer to the ring set up in the middle of the gym.

"Alright, ladies," Charles called once the two women had climbed into the ring. "Show me what you've got."

 _December_

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Merry Christmas to you, too," Dean replied with a scowl.

"Merry Christmas," Sophia chirped, stepping back so he could step into the apartment. The door had barely closed before she was turning to face him. "What the hell are you doing here? You said you were heading to Cincinnati today."

"My flight leaves in three hours. I'm on my way to the airport and figured I'd drop by and see you before I left."

She smiled, then her brow furrowed. "The airport is in the other direction from your place."

Damn her and her sense of direction. Lifting the two gift bags he was holding, he cleared his throat. "I had to bring you your presents."

"Oh, Dean," she cooed. "You shouldn't have."

"I know, but I did anyway." He stepped over to the small Christmas tree in front of the window. The lights were on, twinkling merrily and reflecting off the decorations. There were several gifts already beneath it, and he couldn't help but smile when he saw one from Roman, and another from Seth. They rarely saw her, what with differing schedules and their own lives to live, but he was glad they had welcomed her as a friend.

"I have one for you," she announced, reaching around him to pluck a gift from the pile.

"Soph—"

"I know, but I did anyway." She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the couch, then pushed the gift into his hands once he was sitting.

"It's too small for the new truck I told you I wanted," he sighed, giving the box a shake. "And I don't hear any glass rattling, so it can't be a case of Jack."

She rolled her eyes. "Just be quiet and open it."

"But you didn't say the words." He pushed his bottom lip out. "You're supposed to say the words."

Groaning, she sat next to him and leaned her head against his shoulder. "Merry Christmas, Dean."

"Merry Christmas, Sophia."

He tried to be patient. To remove the paper neatly and carefully. Her bright, excited smile was too invigorating, though, so he tore the paper off and let it fall to the floor, eyeing the plain white box. Then, lifting the lid, he stared at the contents and felt a ball of warmth built within his chest.

"I know how easily you get cold," she explained as he pulled out a black beanie. It was plain, soft against his fingers, and he let the box rest in his lap while he tugged it over his head. "And I know Cincinnati is cold, so…"

There were two more hats, and two matching scarves. Knowing he would use it all while back home for the holidays, he grinned. "Thanks, Soph. I love it."

"I know it's—"

"Something I'm going to use. Hush." He kissed her forehead. "You want to open yours now?"

"No," she murmured. "I'll open it in the morning."

"Are you going to put up a stocking?"

She laughed. "And fill it myself? I'll do that next year."

Comfortable, he stayed with her on the couch as long as he dared. He was painfully aware of the moments ticking by but couldn't budge. Arm tucked around her, he looked at the tree. "Hey," he whispered. "Call me tomorrow, okay?"

"You'll be busy with your mom—"

"Not all day. Call me while you're opening your presents."

"Okay."

They lapsed into silence again, both looking at the twinkling lights and shimmering ornaments. He chanced a glance at the time and sighed, giving her a squeeze. "I better get going."

"Text me when you get there?" she requested, tucking the hats and scarves back into the box. She kicked the discarded paper as they stood.

"I will."

Hesitating at the door, he chuckled when she handed the box over to him. "I better go."

"Yeah," she agreed. "…Dean?"

"Hmm?" He tucked the box under one arm.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he echoed, leaning to press a kiss to her cheek. "I'll text you. I'll talk to you tomorrow. And I'll see you next week."

Her arms came around him suddenly. The hug was tight, and she sighed when he dropped the box and wrapped his arms around her. Her lips were soft against his cheek.

"You better go," she whispered several moments later. But she didn't let go.

He didn't want to. Suddenly, he was damned tempted to cancel his plans and stay. His sister would be with his mom. But Sophia would be alone. And he hated the thought of leaving her alone.

But he sighed and nodded, giving her cheek another kiss before slowly letting go of her.

 _February_

Despite the plethora of red and pink cards, decorations, signs, and doodads, the holiday had crept up on him. He had never paid attention to it before, other than to groan when friends in serious relationships fretted over what to buy, where to go for dinner, and whether or not roses were too cliché. So he ignored the signs, even the dates, until the last possible moment. Not that he was in a serious relationship. He was relationship-free this year. He didn't have to buy anything. He didn't have to worry about getting into a suit and forking out a stupid amount of money on dinner. He didn't have to think about roses.

Yet, there he stood. In the store. Staring at the leftover flower bouquets with something akin to panic.

How the fuck had he not known Valentine's Day was coming?

He turned away from the flowers with a sound of disgust, nearly knocking over a frazzled-looking guy that reeked of Axe and was holding a box of condoms. Muttering an apology, Dean headed in the direction of the cards. He changed his mind, though, and found himself staring at a display of stuffed animals.

He was a fucking grown man, why was he staring at stupid stuffed animals?

He wasn't even dating anyone, so why the fuck was he staring at the measly selection of boxed chocolates?

Sophia was going to think he wanted something. Aside from Christmas, he had never given her anything. They were just friends. Nothing more.

But she did love chocolates… And friends could give each other chocolates, right?

He ignored the smirk on the cashier's face as she rang up his pitiful selection. He grunted a reply when she commented that he hadn't gotten a card.

"Dean!" Sophia was beaming as she flung open her door. Her lips met his cheek quickly, then she was stepping aside.

The air was humid. Her hair was wrapped in a towel. Her skin was rosy. A droplet of water trickled down her neck. She'd just gotten out of the shower. Fearing she had plans, he moistened his bottom lip. "Are you getting ready to go out?"

"No," she laughed. "I spilled my drink and had to shower. What's up?"

He set the bag from the store on the coffee table. "Nothing. Just thought I'd swing by for a bit."

"You hungry?" she asked. "I made beef-vegetable soup."

He drew in a breath to tell her he'd already eaten.

"Oh, and I baked my first loaf of bread today. It came out perfectly."

"Hell yeah, I'm hungry." Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it onto the couch and followed her into the kitchen. He moved to the sink to wash his hands. "You know they sell bread in the stores, right?"

"I just wanted to see if I could do it."

Chunk of crusty bread and bowl of steaming soup in front of him, he listened as she told him of her recent training. He wondered if she had any idea that she glowed while talking about wrestling. She was brimming with excitement over her upcoming matches, and enthused over how wonderful Charles Lacey and everyone involved in the school were. Using the last bit of bread to sop up the last dregs of the soup in his bowl, he grinned. "Won't be long before the 'E is sniffing after you."

"You think so?"

"I know so," he promised, reaching for his glass of water.

Leaving the dirty dishes in the sink, they went to sit on the couch. Sophia still didn't have a TV but Dean didn't mind. He liked the quiet of her apartment. Or maybe he just liked being with her. Settling back, he sighed contentedly

"What's in the bag?" she asked, leaning forward to unwrap the towel from her hair.

"Oh, yeah." He stretched to retrieve it and dropped it in her lap when she sat back. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Shit, is that today?"

"Tomorrow," he sighed.

"You didn't have to get me anything," she said softly. Before he could say anything, she was pushing her lips to his cheek. "But thank you."

He smiled, the grinned as she pulled out the small stuffed bear. She hugged it close, then drew out the box of chocolates. Chuckling when she lifted an eyebrow, he took the empty bag and balled it up. "I'm just trying to get you fat, I know."

"Thank you." She was grinning. "I haven't gotten anything for Valentine's Day since elementary school."

"Next year I'll just give you a box of those shitty hearts," he promised.

"And I'll treasure it."

He rolled his eyes, dragging her close so he could kiss the top of her head. He was pleasantly surprised that she hadn't gotten gifts on what was allegedly the most romantic day of the years. Surely she was exaggerating. Maybe not, he thought as she peeled the cellophane off the box of chocolates. To his surprise, she ate only one. He accepted her offer to get one for himself, smiling as she replaced the lid and placed the box on the coffee table.

Tucked close to his side, she kept the teddy bear in her lap, and he enjoyed the silence. Even as he stretched out his legs and propped his feet on the coffee table he knew he should head home. But he couldn't bring himself to leave. He was full. He was comfortable. He could still taste the sweetness of chocolate and caramel on his tongue.

Let the other guys spend too much on a piece of jewelry and a crappy dinner and stupid roses.

 _May_

He hadn't planned on going to Sophia's. He had just been there the night before, and they had watched a movie on her brand new TV. He never went two nights in a row. They were both too busy for that. And he didn't want to be annoying or clingy. He had fully expected to not see her again until the next week.

But the sky grew dark as he headed home. And all he could think of was that horrible night several months before. He could have called to see if she was okay. He knew that. But he heard the thunder and, with a curse, turned his truck around and headed towards her building.

He beat the storm there. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance as he raced up the stairs to her floor. Worried he was too late, that she would be too far gone to let him in, he banged on her door. Just when he was thinking she wasn't home, he heard the lock click.

She didn't say anything. She just stared up at him with horror in her eyes.

"Soph," he whispered.

"It's just a storm." The words came out mechanically. Like she was a robot repeating a phrase.

"I know." He reached to touch her, sighing when she didn't flinch. "Talk to me, Soph."

"It's just a storm."

"Yes. It's just a storm." Guiding her away from the door, he felt her tense as lightning flashed outside.

"It was storming that night," she whispered. Despite the low tone, there was a pain in the words that tore into his heart.

"I remember." He closed his eyes, drawing in a breath to calm himself, swallowing the lump of bile that always rose when he remembered that night.

"No. The other night."

Opening his eyes, he stared at her. She was starting to tremble. "What other night?" he asked slowly.

"I can't…" She gasped, covering her face with her hands.

"Talk to me, Soph," he requested. He almost guided her towards the couch, then remembered the last time. "Do you want to sit in the corner with me?"

She nodded, almost gratefully, and headed in that direction. She sat next to him, hugging her knees to her chest. "It was storming…"

"Can you tell me?" he asked, instinctively reaching to smooth the hair from her face. It did no good. The curl sprang back to bounce against her cheek as soon as he drew his hand away. "Please, Soph."

"I didn't like him." She rested her forehead on her knees, shoulders shaking. "She thought he was the greatest man ever, but I hated him."

He didn't ask who. It didn't matter. Gently rubbing her back, he rested his head against the wall and waited for her to continue.

"He was a drunk. He always had a beer in his hand." She sniffled. "I hate beer."

"I know," Dean whispered. She'd told him as much before. Suddenly, he understood why she always forgot to get beer for him. And he knew he would never ask her to get any ever again.

"She'd been dead almost a year. And he kept getting worse and worse. Always touching me. Walking in on me when I was taking a shower." She shuddered. "And he'd started bringing his friends over."

Clenching his jaw, Dean merely nodded. It was easy to put one and one together and make two. She'd mentioned her mother dying while she was a teenager. And she'd once said something about a stepfather.

"They were all there that night. I had to bring them beers. Every time I tried to go to my room he told me to stay because they needed me. They kept groping me…" She shuddered again. "And one of them asked him if I still had my cherry."

"Fuck," Dean muttered, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I tried to get away but they were too strong. They held me down on the couch and undressed me. I kicked and screamed but they didn't stop. He told me to be a good little girl and they'd let me go. He just had to show them I was still a virgin. Then he'd let me go." A sob broke free. "I believed him. I stopped fighting and I didn't cry while they… They felt to see that I was a virgin. I thought they'd let me go. But they didn't."

Of course they didn't. Dean felt his stomach twist. He had a bad feeling he knew how the story would end. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't like the images her words created in his mind. Images of her, innocent and trusting, being treated worse than garbage.

"All I could hear was the thunder. Later the people on the news said it was the worst storm in the area in over fifty years." She drew in a deep breath.

"Soph," he breathed.

"They didn't stop touching me. I begged them to let me go. They just laughed and kept touching me. He told me I was getting wet and that meant I liked it. He said I was being a good girl and that he wouldn't hurt me. He kissed me. Then they held my legs open and he spit on me. Told me I was going to love him later. He… It hurt so much."

Dean shuddered, heart pounding in his chest. "Sophia… You don't have to…"

"I need to," she cried.

"Okay," he whispered, continuing to rub her back.

"It didn't stop hurting. I don't remember anything but the pain and the thunder and him grunting. He told me I was his. My pussy belonged to him. He said he was going to pop off inside me but he pulled out and… On my stomach." She made a sound of revulsion. "I thought they were finished. That they'd let me go. But he told them to have a go. He made me suck one of them while the other had his turn. He kept telling me I was being so good. And he'd teach me to love dick. The guy made me swallow and then the other did too. I choked and almost threw up."

"God," Dean murmured, gently drawing her close. "I'm—"

"They made me stay there. I wasn't allowed to go wash myself or get a drink. They kept drinking and touching me. One passed out and the other asked if he could have my ass. He said that was for him, and the next thing I knew he was bending me over. He kept spitting on me. He said this would feel better. It hurt so bad I couldn't even breathe. And he kept going for so long. I thought he'd never stop. Then he suddenly did. He passed out while still inside me."

He waited, holding his breath, fearing she would tell him of further horrors she had experienced. Almost weak with anger and disgust, he tightened his arm around her, exhaling slowly when she clutched the front of his shirt. And he had to know. No matter what it was, he had to know the entire story. "…What happened next?"

Sophia whimpered, shaking her head. "Nothing. I waited and waited forever. I was able to get out from under him. It hurt to move but I took a shower. And then I…"

"What?" he asked softly when she sighed.

"I threw some clothes in a bag. I didn't know what they'd do when they woke up, I just knew I had to leave. I didn't have my license and I had no money, but I had to go. I couldn't stay. Their pants were on the floor so I just… I took their money." She released a strangled sound that may have been a humorless chuckle. "It was seven hundred dollars. I thought I was rich. But it was enough to get me away. And I left."

"Good," he murmured. He figured most people would have told her to find help. Get counseling. Get put into a home with a dozen other kids fighting their own demons. Get lost in the shuffle. But he knew that wasn't always the best choice. "You did the right thing, Soph."

She didn't answer, and he heard the storm still raging. But she wasn't shaking or crying or gasping for breath. Thunder boomed and she flinched, then burrowed closer to him.

"You're going to be okay," he promised, smoothing her hair.

"I know," she whispered.

 _June_

"Guess what!"

Startled by the question, Dean jumped, head slamming into the freezer door. He muttered a string of curses, one hand cupping the back of his head as the other reached to shut the door. Forgetting his quest to find sustenance, he backed away from the fridge and turned to glare at the person who'd interrupted him.

One look at Sophia, though, and his anger dissipated. She was glowing. He was sure he'd never seen her so damned happy looking. So excited. She had pushed her sunglasses on top of her head. She still held her cell phone and wallet and keys in one hand. Her excitement faded, though, and her lips pulled together in concern. "Are you—"

"I'm fine," he promised, closing the fridge door and tenderly rubbing the small lump forming on the back of his head. "What?"

"What what?"

"You told me to guess what…"

"You have to guess!" she insisted, dropping her things on the counter and clapping her hands together.

He laughed, because she resembled a little kid about to meet Santa. "I'm not good at guessing."

"You have to!" Practically bouncing, she grinned. "Come on, guess!"

"I don't… You lost those ten pounds you were bitching about a couple weeks ago?"

Her mouth dropped open in horror. "It was six pounds, and _you_ were the one who told me I was getting fat—"

"Okay, okay, so it's not weight loss!" He chuckled. "I give up."

"One guess and you give up?" she pouted, backing into the living room as he started towards her.

He caught her by the waist and slung her over his shoulder, laughing when she began to squeal. Ignoring the weak punches that landed on his back, he carried her into his room and dropped her on the bed. "Tell me," he demanded, grabbing her ankle before she could get away.

Her eyes widened. "Don't you dare."

Grinning, he nudged the sandal off her foot. "Tell me."

"If you—Dean!" she shrieked when he lightly tickled the bottom of her foot.

Her other foot connected with his shoulder, surprising him, and he released her ankle, reaching to grab both of her legs. She was too quick for him, though, and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back and she was straddling his chest.

"You asshole," she muttered. "Tickling is not fair."

"Soph, you're a chick," he defended. "You telling me to guess when it could be a million things isn't fair. For all I know, you saw a scout from the 'E at your show last night—"

"How did you know?!"

Startled, he stared up at her. He had been about to shove her off of him, but now let his hands fall to her thighs. They were soft beneath his palms and he nudged her back so he could fully see her face. "Wait, what?"

"William Regal was at the show last night. Charles introduced me to him after my match." She was glowing again. "He was so nice, Dean."

"Did he say he was there to scout you?" Dean asked, even though he knew Regal wouldn't admit that at a first meeting. Just as he knew Regal wouldn't have mentioned how he had learned of her.

"No, but he asked me a lot of questions about my work. He gave me an address and asked me to send him some tapes." She blinked rapidly, and he saw her throat work as she swallowed. It was obvious to him that she was trying not to cry. "I don't have tapes, Dean."

"Then we'll make some." Sitting up, he wound his arms around her, pressing his face into her hair so she wouldn't see his smile.

"Charles thinks he's interested in signing me. Like, really interested."

"He'd be stupid if he wasn't." Kissing the side of her face, he leaned back so she could see his grin. "You're gonna be a star, Soph."

"I still have so much to learn. And I've still got a couple more months left on my contract with—"

"Shh." He put a finger to her lips. "Listen to me. You, Sophia Robinson, are destined for greatness. You're going to get signed to WWE, you're going to knock the socks off of everyone in NXT, and when you're on the main roster people are going to chant all night long for you."

She laughed, batting his finger away. "You're delusional."

"Nah. Just a little biased." Laying back, he sighed when she settled next to him.

"It wouldn't be happening if it wasn't for you," she murmured after a moment. He made sounds of disagreement and her hand quickly slipped over his mouth. "I mean it, Dean. If you… Do you know what today is?"

He shrugged, reaching to slowly pull her hand away as realization dawned. "Yes," he answered, gently squeezing her hand. "I do."

"If you hadn't come to that show, and you hadn't walked in on… Everything… I wouldn't be here. No, don't," she said before he could argue. Sitting up, she met his gaze, her eyes open and earnest. "I wouldn't be here. I'd be… I don't know where. I know that I wouldn't be working with Charles. I wouldn't have good people in my life. I wouldn't have you."

Like he was something so wonderful to have.

"I know you hate emotional moments, and I know it breaks your heart when I cry, so…"

She knew that? He'd never told her that his heart broke at just the hint of tears in her eyes.

"Just know that I'll forever be grateful to you for what you've done for me. For saving me. For helping me out. For spending your hard-earned money on some chick you'd hardly knew. For believing in me. For taking care of me. For—" She cut off, drawing in a deep breath. "For being my friend."

"Don't mention it," he murmured. Her hand was still in his and he shifted his fingers to twine them with hers.

"But—"

"I said don't mention it." Smiling, he tugged on her hand until she lay back down. "Just promise one thing."

"What?"

"Promise me you won't forget me when you're a megastar."

She chuckled. Her lips were soft and warm against his cheek. "I promise. As long as you promise one thing, too."

"What's that?"

"Promise me you won't forget me ever."

"Sophia… Sweetheart, I could live a million lifetimes and never forget you."

~fin


End file.
